(My 16-year-old sister – a goth with a somewhat twisted sense of humour – is applying for her first job. As a result, our mother – who had recently had surgery on her ankle – convinced me to drive them to the bank so that she could get an account in her name (up until this point, she had just used a debit card connected to one of our father’s accounts). At this point, all that is left to do is for my sister to choose what colour she would like her debit card to be – blue, black or pink. It is also worth noting that my sister (for some reason) was wearing a pink singlet with a band’s album cover on it that day.)
Employee: So… all we have to do now is select what colour you’d like the card to be. We can do pink, if you’d like.
(A look of something between dread and disgust flashes across my sister’s face.)
Sister: …No thanks. What other colours are there?
Employee: Um… there’s blue or black.
Sister: I’ll have the card be black then. Just like my soul.
(Cue everyone within earshot cracking up laughing)